


the anchor's weight

by Koto



Series: brave the storm for its lightning [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Pre-Relationship, also pre-friendship, eirlana lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9799160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koto/pseuds/Koto
Summary: The prologue, plus first impressions and musings on the Anchor.





	

As soon as the last demon fell, the mage ran to her. “Quickly! Before more come through!”

Eirlana stared at him, at the bare-faced elven man who fought like a mage from neither clan nor Circle. “What —”

He grabbed her marked hand and raised it to the rift.

With a sound like snow crumbling down a mountain, a stream of green light snapped into place between the two. Pain erupted in her palm, radiating from the thing at its centre, absorbed her entire arm, and echoed to her toes, a bone-deep and burning ache that only worsened as the thunder rose to a shriek —

The rift exploded, its force throwing their arms back, and vanished.

She gaped. _It’s gone._ Fist clenched against the lingering pain, heart rate still at a gallop, she spun to him. “What did you do?”

“I did nothing,” he said, lips quirked. “The credit is yours.”

She shook her head. “Mine? How?”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake. And it seems I was correct.”

A soft laugh, part relief and part surprise at his apparent calm, escaped her. “It also seems that you’re owed a little credit, at least.”

“Ah, well. Thank you.”

“So, in theory, the mark will also close —” she gestured toward the gigantic rend in the sky, the words _'the mark is killing you'_ looping in her head “— that.”

“Yes. In theory.” He tipped his head toward her. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know,” the dwarf cut in. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” He ambled over with a grin, crossbow now holstered. “Varric Tethras — rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tag-along.” He winked at Cassandra and received a glare in response.

“Eirlana Lavellan,” she said, smiling in return, “mage, historian, and currently a prisoner.”

He laughed, short and sharp. “We’ve that last one in common.”

“You are not a prisoner,” Cassandra growled. “I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

“And yet here I remain!” he replied, arms spread wide. “Lucky for you, considering current events.”

Cassandra’s glare sharpened. “Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but —”

Eirlana stepped in front of her, meeting her eyes. “Exactly. Judging by the number of demons we’ve already fought, anyone’s help would be welcome.”

Cassandra’s jaw tightened and Eirlana prepared to argue. Then, the warrior nodded and turned away, moving to inspect the surrounding ruins.

 _She conceded. To a suspected murderer._ Eirlana looked at Varric, who whispered, “Half bark, half bite. Maybe it depends on who she’s talking to.”

The mage merely smiled and stepped forward when she turned to him. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’” Varric added.

Eirlana smiled. “ _Ma serannas_.”

“Unfortunately,” Solas continued, “the mark has worsened to the point where my efforts are no longer effective.”

Her mind blanked, just for a moment, and too many questions leaped up. She clenched her jaw, trapping the torrent of panic, and remembered Cassandra claiming this man could help. She glanced her hand, its jagged mark spitting sparks. “Closing the Breach will stop this from tearing me apart?”

“I believe so, though without an energy input equal to the explosion’s, more likely it will only be a short-term solution toward preserving your life and completely healing the Veil.”

“So I need a source to draw from to permanently seal it.”

“Yes, therefore —”

“You can speculate later,” Cassandra interrupted, gesturing at the mountain path. “Right now, our priority is stopping the demons.” After a sweeping glare, she continued on.

“Well,” Varric sighed, “best get moving before she decides to drag us all the way there.” He followed, trudging through the snow.

Eirlana glanced at Solas, who motioned her forward.

“Speaking of,” he began as they walked, “how is the mark?”

“Painful.” The mark continued to pulse with her every heartbeat, tingling her fingers and sending tremors up her arm.

“The pain was worse while closing the rift?”

“Yes.”

He hummed. “Closing the Breach, if only temporarily, should lessen the pain, as well as keep any more smaller rifts from tearing open.”

She glanced at him — expression neutral, eyes forward, tips of his ears red from the cold. “You seem…rather knowledgeable about what’s happening.”

“My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of one constrained to a Circle or clan.”

Something clicked and she turned to him. “Are you a dreamer?”

“I am.”

She grinned, a dozen questions already on her tongue. “That’s —”

In a flurry of snow, a terror demon crashed out of the trees, nearly knocking Varric down. He squawked and scrambled away, backing up toward her. On the other side of the monster and another twenty paces up the path, Cassandra spun.

Hearing her companions draw their weapons, Eirlana yanked her staff from its harness.

“Well, shit,” Varric muttered, as the demon stepped closer.

Cassandra, already charging down the path, wouldn’t reach the demon before it reached —

It lunged, one hand swiping for her face. Pulling on lightning, Eirlana swung her staff. As claws caught her cheek, crackling ice shot past her.

* * *

The demon collapsed in the snow, bearing gashes, crossbow bolts, and magical burns.

Solas watched its body dissipate. _Such a waste. Even the losses of lesser spirits darken this world._ He sighed, then turned to his companions.

Both the child of Stone and the human were visibly unharmed, while the Dalish mage had only received two shallow cuts beneath her left eye. And yet, she was dying. Visible to only mages, the Anchor’s magic crackled through her.

When he’d examined her the day prior, he’d found her organs already straining against the magic. Though his healing and wards had initially proven effective, the Anchor was steadily tearing them apart. Healing her and quelling the magic would be simple, if exhausting, yet doing so would risk someone realizing that his power was too great for an elven apostate, even one so widely travelled as he claimed.

_Unless the Breach is sealed, she may die by nightfall, which is not ideal, but perhaps ‑ no. Corypheus has vanished, and the orb with him. I cannot seek him out now, without knowing the full extent of his power and without aid. Waiting, and learning if this mage is capable of wielding the Anchor, may be the best course._

He watched her brush her knuckles over her cut cheek and smear the trickling blood. _Ironic that this ancient magister would be fooled by one of the Dalish. And even more so that one is even here. Certainly it would be easier to wait out a human conflict than involve themselves voluntarily. And for a mage to come, of all possibilities, when magic is so highly valued among her people._

When she turned and noticed his gaze, she frowned. “Solas, is something wrong?”

He considered her for a moment, Sylaise’s vallaslin etched in a watery blue on her copper-coloured skin. “No, though I am curious. You are Dalish, yet clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?”

She stiffened, shoulders going rigid, and her concern vanished beneath a blank expression. “No. I’m here of my own volition. Why do you ask?”

“I know how crucial magic is to your people. Is it not unwise for you to be here, when someone less important would suffice?”

Anger flashed into her face — eyes narrowing, jaw clenching. “I am not worth more than someone who isn’t a mage.”

“Of course,” he said, his level tone a counter to her bite. “Even so, mages are integral to your cultural heritage, as I understand it. Surely it was foolish to risk your life in attending the Conclave.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not Lavellan’s sole mage. It’s no great risk. My turn,” she added before he could argue that point. “You claim no ties to any clan, yet clearly you know about us. Any particular reason?”

“I have wandered many roads in my time and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.”

“And by ‘crossed paths’ you mean what, exactly?”

“I offered to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition and distrust.”

Her expression softened a touch, even as she snorted. “Keepers who scorn and turn away city-elves do nothing to further our people, much as they may think differently.”

“Your people,” he said automatically.

She frowned, confused one moment and annoyed the next, lips twisting. “Different lifestyles doesn’t change our shared blood or shared history.”

“The Dalish I have met disagree.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “And the opinions of the few clans you met stand for all of us?”

“I…. No. I see your point.”

She relaxed slightly, fingers loosening where she gripped her sleeve.

"As much as I'm enjoying this debate," the dwarf interrupted, "I think we're testing the Seeker's patience." He glanced pointedly at the human, who had finished searching for any additional lurking demons and was stalking toward them.

The elf nodded. "Right. Let's go."

* * *

Chill seeped off the stone walls, often slick with ice. An occasional burning torch would stave off the cold a little, but only during the quick heartbeats Eirlana strode by. Even out of the wind and snow, it felt colder within the temple’s depths.

_Old, latent magic, perhaps. Raan did fight spirits when she was here ten years ago, looking for that human relic. Or maybe the explosion caused —_

The mark flared and pain burst from her palm. She doubled over, spasming limb pressed against her stomach and nails into her palm, and trembled. Her knees felt loose.

Fenedhis fenedhis fenedhis _—_

“Give me your hand.”

Addled by pain, she moved automatically, if slowly. “What happened?” she mumbled between one deep, conscious breath and the next, as fingers gripped her wrist.

A surge of magic enveloped her, drowning enough of the pain for her to straighten.

“The magic broke through my original wards,” Solas replied, face impassive. “These new ones will block more of the pain, at the cost of failing far sooner. An hour at most. We should hurry.”

Cassandra’s gaze flicked to her hand, concern in her furrowed brow. “Are you alright?”

Eirlana nodded. “The sooner the Breach is closed, the better.”

As Cassandra strode ahead, checking around the tight corner for demons, Varric whispered, “How're you really holding up?

“I’m fine. The wards are blocking the mark.” All that remained was a headache, likely stress-induced and steadily building.

“No need to play the hero. We’ll carry you up the mountain if we have to. Well, Cassandra will. I’ll shout encouraging words.”

She smiled, hoping it didn’t come off as a grimace. “I’d appreciate it.”

Another few turns brought them outside the temple and to soldiers in need of rescuing from demons. Not trusting her aim, Eirlana hung back, maintaining barriers, and sealed the rift when the fight ended.

Her headache continued to thicken, blurring the pines and mountains together, while the mark’s magic pushed consistently against the wards, nearly numbing her hand, and she followed her companions’ voices and footsteps in a daze, squinting against the sunlight, bright despite the clouds and —

“Andraste’s ashes.”

Jolted alert by the strange curse, she looked up and froze.

Huge spires of dark stone loomed above them, pulsing with veins of green light and angled away from the explosion's centre. From where the Breach lingered, its stream of light visible between the jutting rocks.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas said.

“What’s left of it,” Varric muttered, as they passed the crumbling remains of the temple’s walls, some barely of height with him, and the corpses, burned black and frozen in place, terror on their faces.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you.” Cassandra’s voice was quiet, sounding almost awestruck. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you, but no one knows who she was.”

Eirlana frowned. “No one recognized her?”

“She was not recognizable,” Cassandra clarified. “The soldiers claimed she shone so brightly her features were obscured.”

“A spirit?”

Solas hummed. “It is possible.”

“If your memories return, perhaps we will know for certain,” Cassandra said and lead them down a flight of stairs and around a corner to —

A massive rift, hanging above the empty crater and rumbling like an avalanche, and streams of green light linking it to the Breach, high above in the clouds. On the ground, among the spires of regular stone, were ones that glowed a deep red.

“ _Mythal’enaste_ ,” Eirlana swore, skin prickling, and her headache spiked. Vision blurring, she moved to the banister and gripped the stone, stabilizing herself without leaning any weight on it. After several slow breaths, her sight cleared.

Cassandra’s boots shifted the rubble as she approached. “Lavellan?”

“Yes?”

“This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

She took a deep breath, turned, and nodded. “Get me to the Breach and I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Solas shook his head. “No. This rift is the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

Swallowing the “ _fenedhis_ ” crawling up her throat, Eirlana nodded. “Lead the way.”

Cassandra did, with Varric warning them away from the red stone — red lyrium, he called it.

 _I’ll have to ask about that_ , Eirlana thought, edging around a large piece, gaze turned away from its harsh light. _Lyrium is definitely not red._

“You seem to be in pain. Are the wards not holding?” Solas asked, walking beside her.

“Headache.”

He frowned and gestured for her to stop. “Seeker, a moment,” he called, before turning to her and raising his hands, healing magic gathering on his fingertips. “May I?”

“Please.”

He pressed his fingers gently against her temples and cast, flooding her vision with blue light. She dropped her gaze, eyes half-closed against the glare.

A chill akin to the Minanter’s water flowed over her, seeped beneath her skin, and began carrying away the ache. She sighed, jaw unclenching, shoulders dropping, and waited as the magic worked every bit of the pain away.

When he removed his hands, she looked up. “ _Ma seran_  ‑ thanks."

“ _Ma_ _isala halani, dirthera_ ,” he replied, an annoyed edge to his voice, and continued walking.

She stared after him, barely registering what he’d said, then jogged after to catch up. “You speak Elven?”

“Indeed."

 _‘Indeed,’ he says, as if speaking fluent Elven is trivial_.

"Why are you surprised? You thanked me before in Elven, did you not?"

She frowned, thinking back. "I ‑ yes, I did. Slip of the tongue. I've rarely had a reason to say ' _ma serannas_ ' in Common before."

"You've never left your clan before, I gather."

"As I understand it, there's little reason to risk the life of a valued First for mere trips into town." He grunted at that. Swallowing another jab, she added with less of an edge, "Firsts aren't permitted to travel away from the clan if it isn't necessary for our studies."

"Misguided, though understandable."

"I agree," she replied, suppressing a sigh. _Fluent Common, too, in his strange accent. Well-read and widely-travelled, but vague about where he's studied and what he's learned. I see why clans would be hesitant. But to deny him completely, gain nothing, and lose a potential ally?_

“Solas.” At his name, he looked down and she caught his gaze, lifting her marked hand. “If I sur—" She cut herself off, quashing the rest of that thought. "When this rift is sealed, will you tell me what you know about this?”

For a moment, he remained silent, merely returning her steady gaze. “ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” he said softly.

She smiled. “ _Ma seranna_ s.”

* * *

The pride demon fell, shaking the bowl of the crater with its weight.

Wincing, the elf staggered to her feet, one arm wrapped around her torso. The demon’s swipe had likely fractured a rib, if not broken several.

“Now!” the Seeker shouted, sword still in hand. “Seal the rift!”

She staggered forward to stand beneath the rift and wedged the butt of her staff into the rubble at her feet.

 _To steady herself_ , Solas realized, when she gripped it so tightly her knuckles whitened and raised the Anchor to the rift.

She spasmed when mark and rift connected with a roar, yet held herself up as the Anchor’s magic shoved against the tear, stitching it back together, achingly slow —

The rift resisted, yanking on the Anchor, and the wards snapped.

The elf screamed, the sound barely heard beneath the ear-splitting whine of straining magic.

Almost too late, Solas cast a barrier over her.

The rift collapsed, its released energy rushing outwards and buffeting every being in the crater. Solas leaned into the wind, watching the link to the Breach shoot upwards, collide with it, and vanish with a second blast. He peered up, fingernails biting into his staff, and — the Breach was closed.

 _For now._ He sighed and turned his gaze to the elf, sprawled on the ground ten paces from where she’d stood, tossed by the blast and unmoving. Even though his barrier had held, closing the rift could have exhausted her body beyond repair.

He strode over to her, followed by the dwarf, and reached for her throat. “She yet lives,” he announced, pulse drumming under his thumb.

“Good to hear. This shit looks far from over.”

 _Unfortunately_ , he thought, releasing the barrier and beginning to search her body for damage. _No doubt Corypheus will retaliate, in the hopes of stealing back the Anchor ‑ yes, two broken ribs and a massive bruise._ He cast a healing spell and she twitched, groaning, as the breaks slowly mended.

“She gonna be alright?”

“Yes. The spell will only mend the breaks, however, not restrengthen the weakened bones. Only time is capable of such.”

The dwarf grunted.

Once her bones were knit, Solas lifted the elf, her unbruised side against his torso.

 _She seems a capable mage, though inexperienced in battle_ , he thought, rejoining the soldiers. _However, if as many rifts have torn open elsewhere as here, that will be remedied by default. And it must be remedied. She must remain alive to serve as a distraction for Corypheus. If she dies too soon and I am forced to reveal myself in order to collect the Anchor…._

He looked down at her — marked hand curled into a fist where it lay in her lap. _For all intents and purposes, she is the Anchor now. She must live._

**Author's Note:**

> What Solas says in Elven is supposed to roughly translate to, "If you need help, say so."


End file.
